A Journey
by Jetsun1119
Summary: Severus Snape is about to get replaced- he's finally gotten the job he craves! And his replacement is very interesting. ..
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Marcy was nervous. The halls of Hogwarts were totally empty, save Professor McGonagall sweeping up the stairs ahead of her. She was barely older than a student herself and here she was applying for a staff position.

"Fizzer," Professor McGonagall said abruptly to the ugly stone gargoyle blocking their path. Marcy gave a little jump as the gargoyle suddenly moved aside, revealing a moving, circular staircase behind it.

"Come along my dear," Professor McGonagall said encouragingly. "The Headmaster's office is just up this staircase."

Marcy stepped onto the staircase, rather enjoying the feeling of being lifted upward. She could dimly hear Professor McGonagall talking to her, but couldn't quite make out the words over the pounding of her heart. She had never been to the Headmaster's office, and certainly not for such a purpose before. It was certainly foolish of her to have applied for the position at such a young age... Marcy was seriously considering fleeing, when the staircase stopped in front of a rather impressive set of double oaken doors, bearing the plaque "Professor Albus Percival Wolveric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster."

"Go on in," Professor McGonagall said. "He's waiting for you." She cast a pitying glance at the nervous girl- woman really, but it was hard to stop thinking of her as a girl- and added kindly, "I'll be waiting for you here when you're finished."

Marcy lifted a hesitant fist and knocked softly on the door. "Enter," came Dumbledore's voice as the large door swung open.

"Ah, Miss Drivyetsky," the Headmaster said genially. "Come on in, my dear."

Marcy entered the small, circular office, taking a moment to observe all of the delicate instruments and the portraits of past headmasters which were staring at her with unabashed curiosity.

"Please have a seat," Dumbledore invited. She sat gingerly at the edge of an armchair. "We are here to discuss your application for the post of Potions Master, if I am not mistaken. He smiled inwardly at he nervousness, before continuing. "I have here your references as Professor Hoxakoff and Professor Chere." He paused for a moment to survey her and added with a twinkle, "I'm surprised that you didn't put down Professor Slughorn."

She took a deep breath and twisted the ends of her dark hair around her slender fingers. "I- I had very little to do with Professor Slughorn," she said, her cheeks coloring. "I was never a part of the Slug Club."

"Pity that," Dumbledore replied with another smile. "Lemon drop?"

"I...beg your pardon?" she said politely, feeling as though she was missing something.

"Lemon drop," he repeated, pointing to a bowl of candies on his desk. "I find them quite nice." He winked at her and popped a sunny yellow candy into his mouth.

Marcy tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it. The sight of the distinguished old wizard sucking on a candy was too much for her. "Thank you Headmaster," she said, dimpling. "But I'm quite alright."

"You were at Hogwarts for two years, were you not?" Dumbledore continued with the interview as if nothing had happened.

"Yes sir, for my fifth and sixth years."

Dumbledore looked her over again and she felt as though he were peering directly into her soul. "As I recall, Miss Drivyetsky, you were in Slytherin House while you were here, correct?"

Marcy nodded, and opened her mouth to speak when a shrill voice spoke from behind Dumbledore's left shoulder. "Slytherins have always been the best Potions brewers, Albus," said painting announced haughtily.

"Yes, thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore said tranquilly, never taking his eyes off of Marcy's face. "I understand that you worked for the Ministry of Magic for the three years after you graduated."

"Yes."

"And, would you care to tell me why you chose to leave that job?" he asked, his tone never changing. "You had a rather advantageous position, Head Brewer at age 18, am I correct?"

She blushed again, and took a deep breath before answering. "I...decided that I would like to move on," she said carefully. "I was not entirely happy at my post...and I did want to try my hand at teaching."

Dumbledore chose not to point out that she had left her job at the Ministry before the post at the school had opened up. "Very well," he said. "It was excellent to see you Miss Drivyetsky."

Realizing her dismissal, Marcy stood up. "Thank you for taking the time Headmaster," she said, trying hard to bite back the feeling of disappointment. She hadn't really thought she'd get the job but...

"Miss Drivyetsky?" His voice stopped her halfway to the door, and she turned around inquiringly. "We will expect you here on August the 15th for our staff meeting, and so that you can get settled in before the school year starts."

"Thank you Headmaster," she breathed, hardly able to believe her ears. She had gotten the post after all! "Thank you ever so much!" She floated out the door, hardly noticing Professor McGonagall who was still standing outside the door. Professor McGonagall smiled to herself as she escorted the euphoric girl down the stairs. it would be nice for people to start seeing Potions as it was- and excellent subject and not a torture session with Professor Snape or a favorites session with Professor Slughorn. This girl-woman- had promise.

This is just a taste- if you like it, let me know and I'll write more...;-) It's a good story...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Severus Snape was busy. He was hard at work in his Potions lab, brewing an especially complicated potion. As such, he was singularly annoyed to have a misty Patronus appear at his elbow, nearly breaking his concentration.

"Severus, we'd like to see you at the staff meeting right now please," the phoenix said in Dumbledore's voice. "We would really appreciate your presence. Oh, and I have lemon drops."

" 3$%!" Snape exclaimed, casting a quick Time-Freeze on his potion. He had forgotten that it was August the 15th. Living in the dungeons, sometimes not emerging for days, could have that effect. He summoned his own patronus, a rather cute looking fox, and sent it back up to Dumbledore with a terse message. "I will come as soon as I am able, Headmaster. And I do not care for lemon drops."

Ensuring that the room was the correct temperature so as not to ruin the potion, Snape _Nox'd_ the lights in the lab and stepped out into his sitting room. He rather liked the dark, forbidding look that the heavy furniture cast on the room, and stopped a moment to appreciate his decorating abilities. He had never thought much of them, but come to think of it, they weren't half bad.

He crossed into his bedroom, closing the door behind himself firmly. He selected his less-dingy robes, not his dress robes, mind, but it wouldn't do to appear at the staff meeting in his brewing robes, which were rather old and hung badly on his skinny frame. Pulling them over his head, he went to inspect himself in the bathroom mirror.

"You've a five o' clock shadow, my dear," his mirror informed his helpfully. "And you're buttoned all wrong."

Snape snarled as he reached for his wand and cast a quick spell at his buttons. He considered using it to shave, but decided that he preferred not to repeat the experience wherein he had ended up with a bloody face and slashed throat. Instead he reached for his razor, and was finished with a few short, efficient strokes.

"Better," said his mirror. He peered closer at his reflection, noting for the first time that wrinkles were beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. Or was he imagining them? Surely nobody had wrinkles at twenty-four.

"Ahem, Severus," a voice said from the doorway. He jumped and spun around, wand out, to see a Patronus-Fawkes fading away.

"I'm coming you old coot," he muttered, putting on his boots. He preferred to go shoe less in his own quarters, finding stocking feet far more comfortable.

Snape walked briskly down the tiny hallway and through the door that separated his office from his private quarters. From there he was in the corridor, hurrying up toward the staff lounge. As he turned the corner, he could already hear voices although he was over 100 feet from the lounge. He scowled- this was not going to be a pleasant evening. He stepped into the lounge, still scowling and took a seat next to Professor Dumbledore. -

 **Marcy** hurried up the wide stone stairs of the castle, holding her light cloak around her shoulders. It was rather chilly for mid-August, and Marcy had no intention of showing up at the staff meeting with a sniffle.

" _Accio_ trunks," she said quietly, and her two trunks zoomed up to perch beside her in front of Hogwarts' large, forbidding front door. She lifted a timid hand to knock, and the sound reverberated around her in the still air.

Almost at once, Professor McGonagall appeared, wearing a scarlet robe with gold trim, her hair pulled into a severe bun, as usual. "Ah, Miss Drivyetsky, I'm so glad you're here," she said with a tight smile. "The house-elves will take your trunks at once." As she spoke five house elves appeared and began levitating her trunks away.

A tug at her cloak startled Marcy, and she looked down to see a small House-Elf at her feet. She smiled, unused to looking down at anyone from her 5 ft 1/4 of an inch. "Your cloak Madam," the House-Elf croaked.

"Oh, thank you," Marcy said. "But I believe I'd rather keep my cloak with me if that's alright." The house-elf bowed and Professor McGonagall muttered something about cloaks and Potions Masters.

"Well, do come along dearie," she smiled. "The staff is already here- well, mostly, anyhow." Marcy trailed behind her as they walked up the stairs to the staff room on the fourth floor. The sounds of a cheerful gathering, if not quite a party, were emanating from behind the closed door. Professor McGonagall knocked sharply once and entered, Marcy still at her heels.

"Ah, it's the newbie!" Professor Flitwick said cheerfully. "Miss Drivyetsky, its so good to see you again." The rest of them murmured similar sentiments, and Marcy stood in the doorway for a moment until Professor Sprout patted the seat next to her.

"Come sit down."

Marcy sat down gratefully, sweeping her cloak gracefully off her shoulders and onto the back of the chair. "Thank you Professor Sprout," she said. "It feels so good to back at Hogwarts."

"No, no, that will never do," Professor Sprout said hastily. "You must call me Pomona my dear. We all go by our first names here."

Marcy flushed delicately and reached up to finger her silver earrings. "I- I could never do that," she protested. "You were all my teachers, I can't just call you by first names."

"It's a rite of passage," Professor Sprout insisted earnestly. "You change from Miss Drivyetsky to Marcy, and I change from Professor Sprout to Pomona."

Marcy looked at Professor McGonagall for help, but she simply nodded. "May I call you Aunt Pomona then?" she asked shyly, secretly thrilling at the thought of having an aunt. She'd never known such a thing growing up.

All of the professors laughed, and Professor Flitwick patted her on the shoulder. "In that case," he squeaked, "I'll be your Uncle Filius. It's been quite a while since I had a young niece to dote on." They all laughed again, and Professor Sprout put a heaping plate in front of her.

"If you want to be treated like a niece," she said threateningly. "You'll have doubled your weight by the time the year is out." She studied Marcy critically, shaking her head, "You are quite thin my dear, surely you aren't eating enough!" Marcy's crimson blush only increased the other professor's chuckles, until the door opened behind them.

Marcy felt a chill sweep through the room and she pulled her cloak around herself as a sallow, hook nosed man stepped into the room. She didn't recognize him, but a sixth sense screamed at her to keep away. She shrank back a bit in her seat, keeping a wary eye on the man as he took a seat next to Dumbledore. "A new professor?" she asked Professor McGonagall quietly.

"That would be Professor Snape," she replied. "The former Potions Master who will be teaching Defense this year." She paused and then added with a twinkle, "I suppose that makes him your Uncle Severus, although I'd advise you never to call him that!

Severus observed the new professor through half-lowered lids from his seat next to Dumbledore. "No thank you, Headmaster," he said impatiently as the man yet again tried to offer him a lemon drop. "Who is that girl?"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "Aha, you have good taste m'boy!" Dumbledore said. "She's a Slytherin as well, very bright, very talented-"

"I'm sure she is," Snape said impatiently. "What I meant to ask was, what is she doing here?"

"Why, she is your replacement," Dumbledore replied calmly.

Snape was shocked, He had considered himself unusual to get the job at age 20, and here this little girl came along, ready to show him up. He had expected the new Potions Master to be a very experienced, middle aged wizard, certainly not a child witch! "That girl?" he asked finally. "She can't be more than 18!"

"She's actually 21," Dumbledore replied calmly. "And as I said, quite talented. You will probably get along quite well."

Snape scowled. He wasn't quite ready to give up his spot as "baby" of the staff, although that girl seemed to have slid neatly into it, with all of the teachers fawning around her. It had to be admitted that she was pretty, with long glossy dark hair, olive coloured skin, and a perfect figure, but he doubted if she was more than a pretty face. Well, he would find out.

Standing up, he strode purposefully over to where she was sitting and slid into the seat across from her, noting with some satisfaction how she shrank back a bit. "Professor Snape," he said coolly.

Marcy smiled and tried to slow her heart rate. "Marcy Drivyetsky," she said, as pleasantly as possible. "Pleased to meet you."

Snape sneered coldly at her. "Not quite sure how you're planning to hold the classes' attention. It'll take more than a smile y'know."

Marcy gripped the edge of the table to steady her shaking hands. A biting retort rose up in her mouth and was out before she could stop it. "I don't believe that i'll have an issue," she said with a sweet smile. "After all, _you've_ managed."

She immediately regretted it; his face turned a blotchy red and he stood up abruptly. "I'll be watching you," he said, stalking away.

 **Please review and let me know if I should write more! Criticism is always helpful!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys: It's kind of depressing to feel like I'm writing to myself. Can you guys _please_ review?**

Chapter 3:

It was quite late by the time Marcy was escorted to her new home in the dungeons.

"Here's your office, Professor," Filch grunted. "And the doorway leads to your bedroom with a loo attached. The password right now is Potions, but you can set it to whatever you like." He hesitated, and then added rather gruffly, "Is there anything you need?"

"No, thank you Mr. Filch," Marcy replied with a soft laugh and a grateful smile. "I assume my trunks are here?" Filch nodded, and backed away, Mrs. Norris at his heels. "Well, then, shall we?" she said softly, touching the door with her index finger. "Potions."

The door opened smoothly, and Marcy stepped inside, hearing it shut behind her with a click. The office was quite small and completely dark. " _Lumos_ ," she whispered, and the room was bathed in a silvery light.

It was a rather unimpressive sight. The office was barely large enough for the battered desk and a few chairs. The fireplace was sooty and small, almost too small to Floo through. A quick glance into the bedroom revealed that it was not much better- a bed in the corner, a stand-up wardrobe and an old armchair were squeezed into the small space. Her trunks were piled on the bed.

"Well," she muttered, sinking into the armchair. "I suppose it's a good thing I came early, isn't it?" Marcy reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, stiff figure. A quick charm and her beloved cat was purring gently on the floor at her feet. "Let's fix this place up, shall we Fleur?" she said laughingly, already rolling up her sleeves.

 **Snape** was enjoying a rather leisurely morning coffee and newspaper when a knock shattered the peaceful silence. He had awoken early and fixed himself a breakfast in his blessedly silent kitchenette, relaxing a bit after the stress of the staff party. He was unused to the noise and people after his solitary summer, ad not at all looking forward to the coming school year. Especially with that new Potions Master sharing his dungeons... he scowled at the thought.

"Enter," he said grumpily, not choosing to care whether it was the Headmaster himself at the door.

The door opened a bit, and the new Potions master stood in the doorway.

"Yes?" he deepened his scowl, the memory of her comment still fresh in his mind.

"The headmaster informed me that you would have the records of ingredients used and needed, suggestions for the book list, and a list of potions that each year had succeeded in brewing," she said quickly.

A sardonic smile curled the edges of his lips. "I wouldn't necessarily use the word "Succeeded,"" he said nastily. "Perhaps "attempted to brew and failed miserably" would be a better way of phrasing it. But in any case, yes, I have the lists. What of it?"

Marcy flushed angrily. So he wanted her to beg, did he? "Professor Dumbledore has always been kind in his assessments," she said. "But perhaps I didn't realize the extent of his charity when it came to telling me of others' intelligence." She gave him a sweet smile and had the pleasure of watching his face turn an odd shade of plum. "When I ask about records, I generally want them," she said. "Just to be abundantly clear."

Snape clenched his jaw. Stupid girl, she had no idea who she was messing with. "I will fetch them," he said finally, feeling a grudging admiration for her spunk. Nobody had ever stared him down like that before.

He returned with the lists and levitated them in front of him to her office, curious despite himself. He had seen the condition of her rooms- he had in fact suggested them to the unsuspecting Headmaster and he wanted to see what the young witch had made of them.

They stopped in front of the door while Marcy traced a complicated unlocking pattern on the keyhole, and murmured the password. _Well guarded, very Slytherin_ Snape noted. Until she opened the door, and then Snape began to doubt her Slytherin-ness.

She had transfigured the old desk into a beautiful antique looking desk, carved from rich mahogany. The floors and walls were paneled in light wood, and scones on the wall cast a warm(!), silvery light. The two battered chairs had become sleek leather and the fireplace had gained an impressive mantelpiece.

But most shockingly of all and most decidedly un-Slytherin, she had added windows! Two large windows nearly covered the wall behind the desk, enchanted to look as if they really opened onto the outside. Gauzy silver curtains were partially drawn, but open enough for Snape to see butterflies and birds flitting about.

A sidelong glance toward the bedroom door which she had left ajar confirmed his suspicions that she had completely changed that as well. And then, of all things, a silvery cat trotted out of the bedroom and began winding itself around Marcy's legs. Realizing that he had been gaping like an idiot, Severus quickly lowered the files onto her desk and began to beat a hasty retreat. The cat saw him out politely, closing the door behind him.

Marcy sighed with relief when he left and lowered herself into the comfortable chair behind her desk. Fleur immediately jumped onto her lap, and Marcy stroked the soft fur absentmindedly. "Why do I have to share a dungeon with him Fleur?" she asked plaintively. The cat gave her a look that said _I don't know but you have work to do_ and returned to her washing.

She thumbed halfheartedly through the files, but the effects of very little sleep and no coffee were beginning to get to her. "I'll just lie down until lunch," she said aloud, ignoring Fleur's reproachful look. "It will help me work."

 _She was running, running, but the ice was too slippery. the snow swirled in her face and she ran but instead of going forward she was being pushed backward...she could feel the hot breath on her neck as she looked into the big yellow eyes...someone was shouting her name but she was pinned to the ice..."Noooo!" she shouted, but she could feel her own voice getting weaker as the ice crept into her lungs...the tongue brushed her face..._

Marcy bolted upright, shivering in the warmth of her bedroom. Fleur was licking her face determinedly and she pushed her off groggily. "It's not lunchtime already?" she groaned, peering at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was mussed and there were tear tracks on her cheeks. She went into the tiny bathroom to wash her face and cast a quick freshening spell. Immediately her hair settled down and the marks disappeared.

"You stay here," she told Fleur firmly. Fleur growled low in her throat. "Don't worry, I'll be fine on my own," she reassured her. "I'm a big girl. And I can't risk you getting into a confrontation with Mrs. Norris; I need Filch on my side. You make sure that greasy git doesn't come near my office, alright?"

Fleur growled in agreement and leaped onto the desk, her topaz eyes glowing fiercely. "Good girl." Marcy patted her fondly and picked up her cloak on the way out, making sure that the door locked behind her. She made her way up to the Great Hall where all of the other teachers, even Snape, had already gathered.

"Ah, Marcy," Professor Dumbledore called. "We were just discussing if we should send someone to fetch you. Come and sit down m'dear."

"Thank you Headmaster," she said politely, taking the seat farthest from Snape. Her nightmare had left her with very little appetite, but she poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice to sip.

Fortunately, none of the other teachers took notice of her empty plate, and she was soon involved in a very animated discussion with Professor Flitwick about verbal vs nonverbal spells. "Nonverbal spells give you such an advantage," she argued. "Your opponent doesn't know when and how to block."

Snape leaned over the table, his black eyes glittering. "Nonverbal spell require a great amount of mental ability," he said silkily. "Which, unfortunately, not all of us are blessed with."

There was an awkward silence, until Minerva, bless her, stepped in. "Marcy, I have the attendance lists for the Potions classes," she said. "You are only taking NEWT students with O in Potions, correct?"

Marcy nodded and took the lists quickly. "I should get working," she said, and fled back to the dungeons. Snape had definitely won that round, and thy both knew it.

 **Hey folks, the plot is still flexible at this point, so if there's something you'd like to see, let me know and I'll try to get it in. And remember, PLEASE review!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Marcy and her mirror were having an argument. Again. That was the problem with magical mirrors- they could get quite feisty but were difficult to replace. If you got a reputation as a mirror-replacer, no mirror would offer its services.

"I cannot wear red," Marcy said for the tenth time, shaking her head in exasperation. "I am a Slytherin. Red is a Gryffindor colour. I cannot wear a Gryffindor colour at the Welcoming Feast!"

"But red is very good for your complexion, my dear," the mirror argued.

Marcy rolled her eyes. "I have green robes, white robes, silver robes, black robes, burnt-orange robes and yes quite a few red robes. i'll wear them another day, but not for the opening feast."

The mirror grunted and considered the robes that she had laid out on her bed. "Try the white robes with your silver cloak," it commanded at last. Marcy sighed in disbelief, still uncertain why she was taking orders from a mirror, magical as it may be, and went to try the robes. The combination was absolutely beautiful.

"Now your silver chain link belt," the mirror said. it was in its element, and not about to step down. Marcy clasped the suggested belt around her 17" waist, letting the extra links fall against her robe. "Your silver slippers." She put on the slippers. "Your nails?"

"White and sliver," Marcy said, opening up her white nail polish to apply a base coat.

"Now as for your makeup," the mirror began in a thoughtful tone, but Marcy quickly cut it off.

"I'll do my own makeup," she said, blowing on her nails to dry them. Perceiving that the mirror looked hurt (if a mirror can look hurt!) she added, "You watch and let me know if you like how I'm doing it, alright?"

The mirror seemed satisfied, and she quickly went to the top of her wardrobe to retrieve her makeup set. It was a sleek leather case that contained everything she needed for any occasion. Setting it down on the low table in front of the mirror, Marcy quickly went to work.

She didn't generally wear any powder or blush, finding it completely unnecessary with her natural complexion, so she went straight for the eyes. She always did her eyes with great care, and tonight was no exception. First came the layered eyeshadow, sliver along her eyelash line fading slowly into white by the time it reached the top of her eye. And then the eyeliner- liquid for tonight- she traced a thick black line along her lashes, giving just a suggestion of a cat's eye at the corner.

She applied the mascara base meticulously, and then went for her favorite Luscious Lashes mascara, coating her upper lashes generously and going a bit lighter on the lower ones. A dash of Wild Strawberry on her lips (Muggles definitely had superior makeup) and she was done.

Except for one small thing. Marcy leaned toward the mirror and narrowed her eyes in concentration, as she adjusted their colour from chocolate brown to a smoky charcoal grey. That was one benefit of being a Metamorphagus, she reflected. She could always change her eyes, skin, and hair to match her makeup or clothes, instead of doing it the other way around.

Fleur, who had been curled up on her bed, watching interestedly, meowed in approval, and jumped down to the floor. "Very good dear," the mirror said, sounding quite satisfied with itself. "Now you just need your perfume and you'll be quite ready to go."

"Thank you for your help tonight," Marcy said politely, spraying a bit of her perfume on. She never liked to wear too much- just enough to give a subtle scent. "You stay here and watch, Fleur," she ordered as the cat padded after her toward the door. Fleur gave her an indignant look, but settled down on the floor by the fireplace, eyes narrowed.

 **Having** not been a first year at Hogwarts, Marcy didn't find the Sorting Ceremony terribly interesting and took the opportunity to observe the students whom she would soon be teaching. Even without knowing, she could easily tell which table belonged to which house despite the black robes that they all wore. The Slytherins had that air of class, the Gryffindors a cocky tilt to their heads, the Ravenclaws looked focused and the Hufflepuffs were the remaining table.

The Sorting was nearly finished, and she snapped back to attention in time to hear Tonks, Nymphadora sorted into Hufflepuff, and Weasley, Charles sorted into Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll smartly and took her place at Dumbledore's right as he stood up to deliver his welcoming speech. Or so she thought.

Dumbledore merely beamed a wide smile and clapped his hands so that food appeared on the long tables. "Enjoy!" he said loudly, to raucous applause. And then once seated, "Pass the potatoes, Severus?"

Marcy inched her chair away from Severus who was seated to her immediate right, on Dumbledore's left. She noted to her dismay that this seemed to be a permanent seating arrangement which meant a year of sitting between him and Charity Burgbage, the kindly but rather long-winded professor of Muggle Studies.

She listened with a polite half an ear to Professor Burbage ramble on about escalators and the miraculous Muggle inventions that made their lives easier. "Because," she was saying earnestly. "They don't have any magic, you understand. They can't Apparate, so they make faster cars and they can't Floo so they've invented telephones..."

Acutely aware that many eyes in the Great Hall were watching her, Marcy forced herself to take several bites of steak-and-kidney pie, but the bile that rose in her throat forced her to put down her fork. She was grateful when the food melted away, to be replaced by desserts of all kinds. At least that she didn't have to force herself to eat.

Marcy was staring past Professor Burbage's shoulder, pretending to listen, when a cold sneer brought her back to Earth. "A waist that size must be terribly difficult to maintain," Severus said with mock sympathy, taking a forkful of pie. "Unless, of course, you're anorexic."

She knew he was deliberately baiting her, but she couldn't let it go. "I don't need to spend hours of my day obsessing over my looks, and I can eat whatever I bloody want," she growled. To prove her point she took a large slice of apple pie on her plate and picked up her fork determinedly.

The pie stared up at her arrogantly, daring her to eat it. She brought a forkful to her lips,but her throat closed, rejecting the sugary mass. She took a large swig of pumpkin juice and managed to wash it down without choking although it left her eyes watering. To her immense relief the dessert vanished shortly afterward,and she was saved from further pie.

Severus seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Saved by the bell," he sneered softly as Dumbledore got up to present his welcoming speech.

Marcy didn't hear most of the speech through her haze of fury, coming back to herself in time to hear herself announced. She stood up and smiled, noting the especially enthusiastic applause from Gryffindor. _I suppose green robes would've gotten me more Slytherin support,_ she reflected wryly. _And the Gryffindors are probably just excited that they can get a fair chance in Potions._

She slipped out as soon as she decently could, heading to the dungeons with a splitting headache.

 **Hey guys, please review! Also, I have exams now, so it may be a little while until the next chapter. Sorry! ;-)**


	5. Chapter 5

The Potions room was cool and dark, as it should be. Marcy sat at her desk, listening to the sounds of first-years' feet coming down from breakfast for the first magical class of their lives. She had a full schedule- double Potions with the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years, and then another double with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. After lunch she had one free period, and then the combined NEWT class. Well, might as well get started.

She opened the door to the sight of four boys shouting insults at each other, looking as if they might soon resort to fists. Predictably, it was three Slytherins and one Gryffindor. Marcy shook her head and stepped into the fray.

"Enough," she said quietly, and the shouting stopped immediately. "This is not acceptable behaviour," she said sternly, ushering the wide-eyed eleven year olds into the room. "And I expect never to see such a display outside of my classroom again. Clear?"

"Yes'm," the boys muttered, staring at their feet, their bravado gone.

"Excellent, then please find a seat," she said with a smile. The Slytherins assembled themselves on the left hand side of the classroom, and the Gryffindors remained clustered together on the right side, to nobody's surprise.

Marcy flicked her wand to shut the door, and began to speak. "Potion making is one of the most difficult and complex branches of magic," she began. "It is a skill that is not easily learned, but highly valued. It is a skill that requires patience, obedience, and absolute discipline, which is what I expect to find in my classroom this year. I am eager to teach, but I will harbor no miscreants in my class. Only those who wish to learn the Art of Potion-making belong here. If not, you may leave now." Nobody moved.

"Now, allow me to introduce myself," she smiled, softening the effect of her forbidding speech. "My name is Professor Drivyetsyky" the name appeared on the board "And I will be your Potions Master this year. Are there any questions before we begin?"

"Excuse me Professor, but which House were you in?" asked a red-headed Gryffindor whom Marcy dimly recognized from the Sorting.

"I was in Slytherin House," she replied, vaguely amused to see the horrified glances that passed among the Gryffindors. "However I do not intend to show any favoritism toward anyone," she said sternly, directing her comment to the Slytherins in the back of the room. "Let us begin. Please take out your copies of _Magical Drafts and Potions,_ and turn to page 12. "

There was a rustling and muttering, as they searched through their bags. When everyone had located the correct page, she continued. "This is a simple draft to cure Boils, one of the simplest potions you'll ever brew. However, we are going to treat it as if it were a more complex potion, like the Drought of Living Death. Too many students learn unfortunate and sloppy habits with simple Potions which forever inhibits their abilities."

She allowed the words to sink in. "We are going to prepare this Potion in a very methodical way." She flicked her wand at the chalkboard, and cursive writing began to appear. _Step 1: Collect all of the necessary ingredients._ "The ingredients are in the supply closet," she said. "Collect all of the ingredients you will need for this Potions, which are listed on Page 12."

Marcy sat down at her desk and observed the different methods that the students employed. Some, (mostly Gryffindors), went back and forth to the supply closet for each ingredient. Others took their textbooks with them and carried back several ingredients at a time. Several Slytherin girls, she noted with pride, copied down the ingredient list on a spare sheet of parchment and made one trip to the supply closet, finishing before the rest.

Once again, she waited for everyone to finish before the next step appeared on the board. _Prepare each ingredient in the prescribed manner._ "For example," she said, "the first step is to crush the snake fangs, and the third step is to crush the nettles. In this class, you will crush, slice, shred, skin, or juice every ingredient _before_ beginning the potion. There are mortars in the back of the room, and if you need help I will gladly help you. You may begin."

With another flick of her wand, Marcy conjured four vials for each student. "These are to keep the ingredients in before you use them," she explained. She began to walk slowly around the classroom, stopping by each table to offer help and advice.

"A clockwise motion will be most effective for grinding snake fangs Mr. Weasley."

"When your nettles are a powder, they are ground fine enough. Keep on going."

"Dandelion roots should be cut on a slight diagonal, Miss Jones. Refer to the illustration on the facing page if you are unsure."

"Gently does it, Mr. Patil, precision is more important than force."

"Well done, Miss Jaffe, ten points to Slytherin." This last comment was directed toward a tiny Slytherin girl in the middle row, who had finished preparing her ingredients.

"When you have finished," Marcy said, standing at the front to the room once more. "You may begin your potion. After each step, evaluate your potion. If the book says the the potion should be green and yours is purple, stop and begin again. There is no sense in continuing a potion once it has gone wrong. There should be plenty of time to finish, as this is a quick brewing potion, but I would like you to try to evaluate your mistakes and avoid making them again in the future."

It hadn't been five minutes and the dungeon was filled with a haze of multicoloured smoke. Marcy patrolled the room, _Evanesco_ 'ing potions when necessary. Some of the boys had managed to mess up the measurements of snake fangs, causing the contents of their cauldrons to hiss and writhe like snakes. She Vanished the potion and cautioned them to measure properly, before moving on.

She observed that the girls generally did better than the boys, but overall she was quite satisfied. "Fifteen minutes left," she announced, finally. "The potion you are working on now is your final attempt. When you are finished, pour some into a flask and label it to be marked. As soon as you have cleaned up your workstation, you may wash your hands and go."

When the bell had rung to signal the end of class, Marcy had twenty vials sitting neatly on her desk, all in some shade of red or orange. She walked down the rows, recording the number of attempts that each student had made, and _Scourgifying_ their cauldrons. She cast a quick neatening spell on the classroom, and sat down to enjoy her ten minute break until the next group of first-years arrived.

 **The** Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were certainly quieter, Marcy noticed as she watched them work. Well, most of them anyhow. Marcy kept a wary eye on the Hufflepuff in the corner whose hair kept changing from a violent pink to an even more violent yellow. She was the clumsiest student Marcy had ever seen, and the loudest, too.

Most of her comments seemed to be directed toward her.

"Easy there, Miss Tonks, you don't want to spill the snake fangs."

"The pestle is not a weapon, Miss Tonks, It's a tool. Please use it as such."

"If your potion is not the right colour, please let me know at once, Miss Tonks, so that you need not waste extra ingredients."

Overall, though, the class was going rather well, and Marcy was quite pleased with the industriousness of these two Houses. They didn't tend to be brilliant Potion makers, but they were quite competent, and willing to work hard.

"Professor?" the girl in the corner was calling her again.

"Yes Miss Tonks?"

"My potion is wrong again." Marcy could see real distress in the blue eyes, and the yellow hair dimmed. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"Potion making is harder for some," Marcy said comfortingly, _Evanesco'_ ing the sludge in the girl's cauldron. "Why don't you begin again, and I will stand here the whole time to make sure you are doing it correctly." Most of the students had finished and left, and she had to admire the girl's determination.

"Thank you Professor!" the hair regained its vibrant shade, and Marcy steeled herself for an unpleasant experience.

It wasn't quite as bad as she had expected, although the resulting potion was rather greenish. "Thank you Professor," the girl chirped, and ran out to lunch. Marcy sighed and summoned the vials to her desk, and began making her rounds to clean up. Suddenly, she got the feeling that she was being watched, and spun around to see Snape standing in the doorway.

"Professor Dumbledore sent me to fetch you for lunch," he said, sounding almost civil. Then he caught sight of Tonks' vial and his face contorted in a sneer. "And that is a pathetic attempt at a Cure for Boils," he said nastily. "Hufflepuff?"

Marcy flushed angrily. "It's no matter," she said. "However, I would like to remind you that you are no longer Potions Master at this school, and I will thank you to keep you nose out of the Potions Department." She regretted the choice of words as soon as they were out, and sighed as he turned on his heel and disappeared.

"Why do I always do that?" she asked herself. She headed back to her chambers and called for a House-Elf to bring lunch there. There was no way that she was sitting next to Snape now.

 **Marcy** had really been looking forward to the NEWT class, although the thought of teaching teenagers barely four years younger than herself was rather daunting. She watched as they filed in, mentally matching the faces to the names on her list. They were a relatively small class, only 13 of them- 5 Slytherins, 4 Ravenclaws, 2 Gryffindors and 2 Hufflepuffs.

As soon as they were all seated- segregated by House she noticed- she began. "All of you who are in this class have achieved an O on your OWLs," she said. There was a ripple of nods. "Therefore, this is an advanced class, and I will treat it as such. I am Professor Drivyetsky, and I was in Slytherin House in Hogwarts, but rest assured there will be no picking of favorites."

There were mixed reactions of relief(mostly Hufflepuff) and disappointment (mostly Slytherin) but nobody said a word. "Are there any questions?"

"Professor?" A tall, blond Slytherin raised his hand.

"Yes Mr. Laffol?"

"How old are you?" There were grins and wolf whistles from the other boys, and Marcy shook her head.

"That, Mr. Laffol,"she replied good-humoredly. "Is for me to know, and you to wonder about! Now, are there any questions about the subject matter before we begin?" There were no questions.

"Well, then," she said briskly. "I will set you your first task. This class will not only teach you to brew complicated potions, but will also introduce you to the rudiments of potion adjusting and inventing. For that reason, it's imperative that you are familiar with the top 40 potion ingredients- their uses as well as their dangers."

Marcy placed a small velvet bag on her desk. "In here are the names of the 40 most important ingredients," she said."You will each pick three slips of parchment, and write me a detailed report on each of your ingredients, due next Monday. I will do the fortieth ingredient."

A dark-haired Ravenclaw girl raised her hand timidly. "Yes Miss Goldstein?"

"Please, Professor, how long must it be?" she asked.

"I will leave that up to your discretion," Marcy replied. "I would suggest starting with _1,000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , as it will reference other books for you. Some of your books may be in the Restricted Section of the library- in that case you may come to me, and I will write a permission for you." No further hands were raised, and so she continued. "Today I would like you to turn to page 6 in your copies of _Advanced Potions Making_ and begin the Veritaserum- you will leave it to brew and we will continue tomorrow- it takes a while."

Books opened, and cauldrons and scales came out. Marcy was satisfied to see everyone buckling down to work immediately, some automatically splitting into pairs and working together. _I very well can teach a Potions class_ she thought smugly. _Take that Snape._

 ** _hey guys I wrote this between a murderous Biology exam and a terrifying Literature exam so excuse errors and whatnot. And of course PLEASE review! It is so motivating to me!_**


	6. Chapter 6

It had taken a bit of a while for Marcy to settle into her teaching schedule. She was quite unused to having so much human interaction throughout the day and it drained her. She had never realized either how utterly incompetent some people were at potion making.

It was a quiet Friday night and Marcy was grading the fifth year essays on the Draught of Living Death. She shook her head and sighed before marking an P on the top of the paper. She did hate to give lower than an A but some of the essays weren't worthy of a second year let alone a fifth year!

She set the essays aside and moved to the easy chair that she had squeezed in front of the fireplace. Fleur jumped into her lap purring softly.

"Am I crazy to have taken this job Fleur?" she murmured into the soft fur. "I have no friends, I'm lonely, and I don't feel like I'm even helping these students. It's nearly the end of October and some of these essays are worse than terrible ."

Fleur looked straight into her eyes and Marcy could feel her disapproval.

"I know," she sighed. "It's kind of early to be throwing in the towel, but this place is depressing." Fleur gave her another look that said clearly _Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it_.

"I don't know anyone here-" She began, and then stopped suddenly. She did have friends here in Britain. There were old family friends living here who were only a few years older than she was.

She stood up abruptly, leaving Fleur to land on the floor with an outraged hiss. "Sorry," she said, making her way over to the fireplace. She threw in a handful of Floo powder and waited expectantly for the flames to turn emerald green. To her dismay, they didn't, instead hissing out altogether.

Professor Dumbledore's voice emanated from her fireplace. "So sorry, but due to the protective wards around the school, no outside Floo contact is permitted without express permission from the Headmaster."

"Fleur!" she wailed, sitting back down in the armchair. "Now what?" The topaz eyes looked back at her steadily, unblinkingly.

A sharp crack distracted her, and she looked down to see a small house-elf that had just appeared on top of her desk. Fleur leaped to the top of the mantlepiece and stayed there, hissing softly.

"Yes, Krider?" she said pleasantly. She had made it her prerogative to learn the names of the house-elves, and address them as such. "Can I help you?"

The old elf bowed low, his already bulbous eyes widening until they looked ready to pop out of his head. "Mistress wants to help Krider?" he croaked. "Krider is here to serve Mistress Drivitssky however he he can. Is there anything that Krider can do for Mistress? Mistress looks upset."

Marcy smiled a bit at the mispronunciation of her name- none of the house-elves could get it right. "Thank you Krider," she said, touched by his concern. "But I'm alright now. "

"mistress will call if she needs anything?" Krider pressed, looking more and more distressed.

"Yes," Marcy smiled. "I may come to the kitchen a bit later for a snack, how's that?"

The house-elf beamed and Disapparated, leaving Fleur to come down cautiously, still hissing.

"I think I may go to the kitchen now," she said aloud. "A little chocolate is just what I need." She stopped briefly to freshen up in front of the mirror, and change out of her dressing gown and slippers.

"I don't need anything fancy," she told the mirror quickly, pulling on her most casual robes. They were a loose and comfortable set of dark green robes that she had picked up in a cheap store. "I'm only going to the kitchens and goodness knows the elves don't care what I look like."

"You never know who you may meet," the mirror teased. "At least some jewelry..."

"No," she said firmly, warding the door shut. "No." She slipped into her sliver shoes and out the door, leaving Fleur behind to watch her office.

The house-elves had shown her how to get to the kitchens, but she had never done it before. She was hurrying down the seventh floor corridor when a sound caught her ear. She stopped to listen for a moment, but all was silent. Shrugging, Marcy began to walk again, only to stop several steps later. The sound caught her ear again. She knew that sound well, beyond a shadow of doubt. It was a human scream of pain.

Marcy narrowed her eyes, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. It was definitely near, but never seemed to get closer, no matter which way she walked. For a moment the sound stopped, and then continued, more intense than before.

It wasn't a continuation, though, Mary realized in horror. It was a new voice, and sounded as though someone was using the Crutacius curse on a little girl. There was no doubt about it: somebody or something was hurting a student, or more than one student.

She paced back and forth, uncertain and afraid. Should she call the Headmaster? Professor McGonagall? It might be too late by the time they arrived. _I need_ _to find whoever is hurting_ she thought desperately. And then in front of her eyes, an oaken door appeared in the wall before her. Etched on the door in spidery script was the word "Enter". And she did.

The sight that met her eyes was more horrific than she could have possibly imagined. Two small girls were hung from wall with chains, while several older boys took turns hexing them.

"This one is for Fawcett," the tallest boy hissed, sending a stinging hex at the smaller of the two. The other one was unconscious, hanging limply like a rag doll. The girl screamed as it hit her face, already bloodied beyond recognition.

"Enough!" Marcy finally found her voice. " _Protego!_ " Her Shield Charm knocked the boys off balance, and they tumbled in a heap. " _Petrificus Totalus!"_ It was the first spell she could think of to keep the boys still.

Without stopping to think of the consequences she conjured three Patronuses and sent them of to the Headmaster, Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. She then crossed the room to where the two girls hung. A quick Cutting spell and they were released; she laid them gently on the floor. _I need cots and Blood Replenishing Potions and Dittany,_ she thought frantically. And then they were there.

Marcy levitated the two girls onto the cots and cleaned the blood off their faces. It was Nymphadora Tonks and Belle Jaffee, both looking paler and stiller than she had ever seen them. Madam Pomfrey would see to the cosmetic injuries, she knew, but the most important thing was to make sure that the boys hadn't killed them.

She tipped a Blood Replenishing Potion down each of their throats, and then put her wand away and rolled up her sleeves. Holding her hands above them, she began to chant, the slow steady chant of the Soul Binding Charm. Her hands began to glow with a soft purple light that spread down to cover their bodies like halos.

It was a complex charm that kept the soul from leaving the body so that appropriate medical care could be administered. Marcy hadn't performed it in a long time, and had forgotten just how draining it could be. Dimly, she could hear the door opening behind her, and she fought not to break her her concentration. The charm was nearly complete.

"What in Merlin's name?" she heard Professor McGonagall gasp, and then she fainted.

###$$$$$$$%%%%

 _She was holding her mother's hand tightly, looking up into her beautiful face. "Stay here with me," she begged._

 _"Don't be afraid darling, i'm only going out for a moment." Her mother's soft voice washed over her. "I'll be right back in; you can even watch out the window."_

 _She watched her mother's slender figure gliding over the hard ground. Her long blond hair swayed in the breeze and her fair skin shone in the moonlight. She approached the creature, unafraid. The creature was entranced, laying down docilely on the ground...she could see her mothers lips moving, whispering the important words._

 _And then she tripped over the uneven ground, falling to her knees... the creature lifted its head and roared- she could hear the sound from inside the house. It lunged at her mother who staggered backwards... blood, so much blood all over the place..._

 _She was whispering the words but the light was so pale... the healing violet light flickered and went out as she stared into the great jaws... and then she was running... she could hear her mother calling out to her... she called back "Mama!"... and then she tripped..._

Marcy awoke, gasping, her heart pounding wildly. The bed was unfamiliar, and she sat up quickly, swinging her legs onto the floor. Everything was white, and she squinted trying to figure out what she was doing there.

"Absolutely not!" A voice behind her made her jump, and she turned to see Madam Pomfrey with her hands on her hips. Suddenly it all flooded back- the screams, the Room of Requirement, the bloodied girls...

"Are they alright?" She gasped, shocked at how hoarse and raspy her voice sounded.

"They will be fine," Madam Pomfrey said sternly. "But you will not be unless you rest! You nearly drained your core with that spell, you foolish girl. When was the last time you ate anything?"

"I had tea and toast at breakfast Friday morning," she replied, feeling unaccountably defensive. "Why?"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head and muttered angrily under her breath. "That was a very strong piece of magic you did," she said. "And in a body depleted of nutrition it could have been fatal. As it is, you were out for nearly two hours. Eat."

Marcy looked at the tray on her bedside table, her stomach churning at the thought of food. "I'll take a Nutrition Potion," she said quickly. "I can't eat right now." This earned her a disapproving look and a lot of tongue clicking, but twenty minutes later she had manged to convince Madam Pomfrey to allow her out.

"Only because the Headmaster said so," she warned, shaking her head. "What that man knows about health is negligible, but he is headmaster..."

Madam Pomfrey Floo'd her to his office to avoid unnecessary walking, and she stumbled out of the fireplace to find the three boys, the Headmaster, and Professors Sprout, McGonagall and Snape waiting for her.

"Professor Drivyetsky, good to see you on your feet," the Headmaster said warmly, pulling up a chair for her with a grandfatherly air. She sat down and watched silently as Professor Dumbledore questioned the boys. Marcy thought they were rather lucky that it wasn't Professor McGonagall, who looked like she was ready to burst into flames.

"They're Death Eaters, the whole lot of them," the tallest boy said finally, after much prodding. "They deserve to suffer for what they did to our families."

"Aside from the fact that hurting innocent 11-year-olds won't right any wrongs," Dumbledore said in a tone as close to anger as Marcy had ever heard him. "Miss Tonks is the child of two people who fought the Death Eaters."

"And her aunt tortured my aunt and uncle into insanity," the boy seated in the middle snarled. "Two innocents for two innocents, right?"

All of the Professors were plainly horrified at the boys callous lack of remorse. "And what makes you any less evil than Bellatrix Lestrange?" Snape broke in, his voice frighteningly soft. "She tortured two people whom she believed to be a threat to her- capable Aurors who could defend themselves." he held up a hand as the boy tried to interrupt.

"I haven't finished Mr. Longbottom. You, on the other hand, took a defenseless 11-year-old girl and nearly killed her. Now who seems more evil?"

The room was uncomfortably silent, until Dumbledore finally spoke. "I believe we have heard all that we wish to hear," he said heavily. "You may return to your dormitories. I will owl your parents, and we will discuss this further tomorrow."

The boys filed out, but the adults remained in their seats. "Incidentally, Marcy," Professor McGonagall said, "How many House points did you deduct from Gryffindor?"

Marcy almost laughed. "House Points? I wasn't even thinking about that. The only thing I saw was two bleeding children. And I didn't even know that the boys were from Gryffindor."

Dumbledore gave a grim chuckle. "And it's a good thing," he said. "If not for that Charm, they may not have made it. Where did you learn it, by the way?"

Marcy bit her lip, trying to think how much she could say without lying. "I performed it for the first time when I was eight years old," she said at last. "And I've been improving it since." _Don't think about the first time you tried it..and failed_

"Well, I'm sure we all need our rest," Professor McGonagall said briskly. "Especially you Marcy!"

As if on cue, the flames in the fireplace turned green and Madam Pomfrey's head appeared. "Send my patient back at once, headmaster," she said crossly. "She will insist on teaching come Monday, and she needs to rest up."

"Alright, she's coming Poppy," Dumbledore said, escorting her to the fireplace. "Goodnight, Marcy. Sweet dreams."

 _You might better wish me no dreams_

 ** _This one was a long one- sorry it took so long in coming. Please review guys, I'm begging you! I'm on my hands and knees! it's sooooo hard to write without feedback. Any and all criticism is welcome. BTW, did you like seeing the Room of Requirement pop up? more on Marcy's background to come hopefully..._**


	7. Chapter 7

Halloween was always a difficult time for Severus. He hated the loud music, the bats, the garish decorations... and he missed Lily. He tried to keep his mind off of her, but on the anniversary of her death, her face always popped into his mind.

Severus was sitting in his armchair, staring broodingly into the fire. He had no desire to attend the Halloween feast, no less so because of who sat next to him. He mentally cursed Dumbledore again for seating him next to the new professor. She was sweet enough, but any time he said a word to her he was mercilessly teased by Albus and Minerva about having found "the one."

He had never attended the Halloween Feast at Hogwarts before; since Lily's death it had been his night of remembrance for her. This year, though, Albus was pressuring him to attend, telling him that it was time to let go of the past and look into the future. A sudden wave of rage shot through him as he recalled the Headmaster's patronizing words. What did he know about suffering?

He stood up with a snarl and tossed a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace. "A word, Albus," he said curtly.

A few seconds passed, and then the familiar crooked-nosed face appeared in the flames. "Ah, Severus m'boy," he said with a smile. "Are you planning to come and help me with the decorations? I know you always did have a way with bats and -"

"No," Snape cut him off. "I'm just letting you know that I will not be attending the feast this year." he turned on his heel and stalked out, leaving the Headmaster sputtering behind him.

He walked slowly down the corridor, trying to get himself under control before he went to teach his last class of the day. A sudden movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a dark-haired first year trying to slip past him.

"Miss Jaffe," he said coldly, looking her up and down. "Would you care to explain to me why you are disgracing Slytherin house by wandering the corridors when you should be in History of Magic?"

She looked surprised that he had her schedule memorized, but not in the least afraid. "Professor Snape," she said quietly. "I am on my way back from the infirmary where I've been for the past week. Madam Pomfrey said I could go back to the dormitory but didn't want me to go to class yet."

"You will not attend the Halloween Feast tonight?" It was more of a question than a statement, but he was curious to hear her response.

"My family never celebrated Halloween, Professor," she said innocently, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. "They told me that it wasn't a holiday for wizards, that it's only a Muggle holiday. Why does Hogwarts celebrate a Muggle holiday, Professor?"

Snape suddenly felt far older than twenty four years old. Of course the family didn't celebrate Halloween; they were one of the oldest Death Eater families around. "You are from Lancastershire, are you not?" he asked finally, his voice slightly softer. She nodded, and he forced something that resembled a smile. "Ah, well, in London and Scotland wizards celebrate Halloween," he said rather unconvincingly. "It must be different in the South."

"Do you celebrate Halloween, Professor?" she asked with a charming smile.

He hesitated for a split second, and the the bell sounded, clanging harshly through the stone corridors. "You had better rest, Miss Jaffe, and I have a class to teach." He made his way quickly down the corridor.

There was already a gaggle of third years waiting by the door when he arrived. Snape cursed under his breath, and unlocked the classroom door. "Enter."

This was one of his least favorite classes- the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third years. They were all stupid in his opinion, and the only good thing about this class was that they gave him plenty of opportunity to deduct House points very fairly.

"Open your books to page 60," he said, sending a scorching glare toward the whispering boys in the corner. "And in case you have forgotten, Mr. Weasley, talking in my class means deducted points." The whispering stopped instantly. Satisfied that he had the classes attention, Snape began the lesson.

"Who knows even the slightest thing about Grindylows?" he asked. No hands went up. "As I thought," he sneered. "And I assume none of you would know which spells to fight them?" He was about to move on when a timid hand went up at the back of the classroom.

"Miss Greengrass?" The quiet Hufflepuff had never opened her mouth in his class before, and he was actually curious what her voice sounded like.

"Would you use an Impervius Charm?" she asked, so quietly that he had to ask her to repeat herself.

"If that was an answer and not a question," he said snarkily, "Then you would have been correct. Grindylows are marine animals, and therefore-" he stopped midsentence to glare at the children gaping up at him. "Ten points from Gryffindor," he said. "You should be taking notes."

Bill Weasley looked ready to argue, so he rushed on, in no mood to get into a debate with the annoying redhead. "Using the Impervius Charm causes their skin to repel water, which will quickly kill them."

"But Professor," Weasley's sidekick broke in without raising his hand. "You asked how to fight them, not how to kill them. If you would have been more specific, I could've answered the question."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape said smoothly, cutting off the sniggers that had arisen at the boys comment. "And Mr. Cresswell, detention in my office tonigh- er, Saturday night."

The boy opened his mouth. "Ten points from Gryffindor for talking back," he barked, in his element now. "And if you would like to comment further it can be a month's worth of detentions." The boy closed his mouth.

"Two feet on Grindylows and the Impervius Charm, due tomorrow," he said. "You may begin now."

%%%%%%

It had been an especially long day, and Halloween was always difficult for Marcy. She collapsed in her armchair just before six o'clock, drained. She had already informed the Headmaster that she wouldn't be attending the feast, and now she had to get ready for her alternate arrangements.

Fluer knew to keep her distance when Marcy was in such a mood, so she purred sympathetically from the desk.

"You're right, I should get ready," Marcy said finally, standing up. "It's nearly dark and I'll miss it..." Relieved to see her Mistress getting up, Fleur padded after her into the bedroom.

"Are you going out tonight, darling?" the mirror asked eagerly as she began to rifle through her wardrobe.

"Yes," Marcy said distractedly.

"So how about black?" the mirror suggested. "It's your best evening wear, and quite suitable for Halloween, too. Or you could go with the green for Slytherin... he is a Slytherin, isn't he?"

"Red," Marcy replied, not having heard the mirrors comments at all. "I'm going to wear red tonight." _Red for Lily..._

"Excellent, so he's a Gryffindor!" The mirror was in its element now. "How about the scarlet ones, then? That's the best neckline you have, aside from the black of course."

Marcy pulled a set of dark red robes from the wardrobe, and then stepped into the adjoining bathroom to change. When she emerged, the mirror looked her up and down critically.

They were the oldest robes the she owned, and very simple. They were made of a soft, silky material, and clung gently to her girlish figure. The sleeves were long and the neckline high, but the mirror liked what it saw.

"And now for makeup." it said brightly. In response, Marcy took out her makeup remover, and began to wipe her face clean. Gently and delicately she removed the sooty black from her eyelashes, the silver and black from her eyelids, the red from her lips. She narrowed her grey eyes until they were a bright emerald green.

With one final look in the mirror, she _Nox'd_ the lights and left the room locking the door as always. She paused for a moment to pick up candles from her desk and left, allowing Fleur to pad along beside her.

%%%%%

Severus hurried down the long corridor, making sure not to be seen by anyone. It certainly wouldn't do for a student to see him in red robes. He pulled his black cloak more tightly around himself and quickened his pace. There was only one person he would do this for. _Red for Lily..._

He began the long climb to the Astronomy Tower, losing himself in memories of times long past. Sneaking up at midnight to see the stars, all-night vigils to watch the sunrise, hours peering through telescopes, all with his only friend.

As he neared the top of the tower, he was surprised to hear a soft chanting coming from the chamber. He stopped for a moment, puzzled. Everyone should be at the feast... He rounded the final corner and stopped short in shock.

There was a woman kneeling in front of the North Window, three candles burning brightly. She was murmuring under her breath so that he couldn't quite hear what she was saying. The candles cast eerie shadows on the walls, and her rad robes glimmered softly.

He stepped forward and cleared his throat quietly. The figure jumped as if she'd been stabbed by a pin. She turned around, and for a moment all that Severus could see was Lily's eyes peering out from from his colleagues' face.

"Why aren't you at the feast?" he blurted.

"Halloween is a day of mourning for me," she said quietly, turning back to face the candles. "I can't make merry on the day that my friend died."

"It's a day of mourning for me as well," he confessed. "I mourn the loss of my childhood friend."

She nodded and pointed toward her candles. "This is for James," she said, touching a slender white candle. "This one is for Lily," she continued, touching a red, cinnamon-scented candle. "And this last one," she touched the other white candle. "Is my prayer for their son, Harry."

Severus dropped to his knees beside her, touching the red candle with a hesitant finger. "Lily was my best friend," he said hoarsely. Something about the atmosphere made him feel safe, and he wanted to unburden himself. "She was the kindest, sweetest, most incredible person that I have ever known. She accepted me, until I pushed her away..."

"Lily was good to me," Marcy told him. "She was an assistant Professor in my fifth year, and she took me under her wing. I would never have survived the year without her."

"She always knew when somebody needed help," he murmured. "And she always gave of herself."

"I'm proud to have met her, and i wish i could have known her longer."

They knelt side by side for a long time, sharing memories of a dear one who had passed. The white candles flickered out, but the red one continued to burn strongly until the sun peeked over the horizon.

Finally, she leaned over and blew out the candle with a soft breath. The spell was broken and they both stood up, and headed for the door.

"Thank you Professor," she said softly as they parted ways at the foot of the stairs.

"Thank _you,_ " he replied, still hoarse from the long night. "And please...call me Severus."

 **Soooo... what do you guys think? Like? Dislike? Please review! Shout out to General E, still my only reviewer! C'mon guys, just take one minute. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase?**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mercy walked into her NEWT Potions class several minutes late after discussing her Floo access with Dumbledore. The class was buzzing excitedly and didn't fall into its usual silence when she entered. Instead of trying to capture their attention, she perched on the edge of her desk.

"What's the commotion about Mr. Laffol?" she asked singling out the blond Slytherin who had completely turned around in his chair.

He had the grace to flush a bit. "Yule Ball," he explained. " Professor McGonagall announced it today so the girls are all fussing over dress shopping."

"And I suppose the boys were discussing their dress robes?" she teased. They all laughed and Mercy flicked her wand at the board.

"Instructions for today are on the board. I expect a decent Drought of Living Death from this class. And of course, when in doubt ask for assistance."

There was a scramble for ingredients, and then the students drifted into pairs. Mercy was pleased to note that the two brightest girls in the class, Violet Nott of Slytherin and Amy Woodrow of Ravenclaw had overcome their House barriers and become partners.

She headed automatically toward the Gryffindor boys, as they were most likely to harm themselves in the process ofpotion-making. They were managing well, though, so she made her rounds of the room to make sure that everyone was alright.

"Professor?"

"Yes Miss Nott?" She wound her way over to their table.

"We'Re not quite sure of the force level of the stirring; would you be able to show us?"

"Of course." Mercy felt a glow of pride as she took the stirrer from the girls hand. Only a very exacting potioneer could tell if the potion was stirred at the wrong force level, and she was delighted that they had picked up on it.

She demonstrated the force level for the required seven stirs until she realized that the girls were staring at her hands. It wasn't' terribly shocking except that instead of watching the stirrer they were staring at her nails.

"Professor, your nails are incredible," Amy breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from them. Mercy glanced down at her nails rather self consciously. She had done a base coat of white with delicate silver snowflakes on top. The snowflakes were enchanted so that it looked like it was snowing on her nails.

"Thank you Miss Woodrow," she said, rather amused. "Now you had best be getting back to that potion of yours."

She had turned to help another student when the girl spoke again. "Professor, could you do that to my nails?"

Mercy hesitated, and than a germ of an idea began to form. "Any girl who maintains an average of 95% or above can come to me before the ball and I will do your nails. How's that?"

The girls broke out in excited whispers and giggles, and then Theodore Macillius spoke up.

"Professor that's hardly fair to the boys!" There were murmurs of assent.

"Would you like your nails painted as well, Mr. Macillius?" she asked, arching a brow at him. The girls laughed.

"Seriously, Professor, the boys should get something as well."

It was true, she reflected. "Do you have a suggestion?" she asked. "I am perfectly willing to be fair."

There was a silence, and then James Laffol raised his hand. "How about a dance at the Yule Ball?" he asked slyly, while the other boys hooted and whistled.

"Very well," Mercy said after considering for a moment. "I will give one dance to any boy who has an average of 97% or above by that time."

James started to protest but she was too quick for him. "Your Potion needs attending to if you want that average," she said sweetly. He turned to his cauldron and Marcy sighed to herself. The ball was going to be a long night...

%%%%%

Marcy knelt in front of her fireplace, clutching the flowerpot of "administrative Floo Powder" that would allow her contact outside the school. She threw in a handful and stuck her head eagerly into the flames.

Her head was now in a very elegant looking dressing room with high ceilings and a marble floor. Everything was upholstered in silvery silk, the wood polished to perfection. Several house-elves scurried about, and at the far end of a the room, a tall blonde woman was examining her elaborately coiffed hair in the full-length mirror.

"Cissa?" Marcy called experimentally.

The woman spun around, and seeing Marcy's head, uttered a cry of delight.

"Marcy! Come through right now."

Marcy stepped gingerly through the flames, mindful to bring extra powder with her.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," Narcissa said, hugging Marcy tightly. "It's been far too long since I last saw you." She stepped back, holding Marcy at arm's length to examine her. "You look lovely."

"Did I call at a bad time Cissa?" Marcy asked, noting the dress robes and carefully applied makeup. "Are you headed somewhere?"

A shadow passed briefly over Narcissa's face.

"What's wrong Cissa?" Marcy asked gently. She took hold of the older girl's elbow and guided her to the couch. "Tell me darling."

Narcissa pulled a handkerchief from a waiting house-elf and dabbed at her big, blue eyes to avoid ruining her makeup. "Lucius had an important Ministry Dinner tonight," she said quietly. "And he wants me to attend with him, to make a good impression."

"Do you want to attend?"

Narcissa twisted her hands. "Yes, I would like to go be with Lucius, but..." her voice trailed off, and she stared at her feet.

"But?" Marcy prompted after a moment.

"But Draco is sick!" As if to confirm her statement, a thin wail sounded from the next room. "He's in pain, Marcy, and Lucius wants me to leave him here and come make merry." A house-Elf entered, carrying the boy, and handed him to Narcissa. "You see? I can't just leave him."

Marcy looked at the small child, and her heart twisted in pity. His skin was flushed with fever, and he was whimpering softly, too weak to cry properly. Instinctively, she held out her arms to him, and to her surprise, he responded. She took him gently from Narcissa, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

He was lighter than she had expected, and his entire body was covered in sweat. "Merlin, Cissa, he's burning up!" she exclaimed, hugging the little body tighter. "Haven't you given him a Fever Reducer?"

"I did," Narcissa said unhappily. "He's not responding to it at all.' I wanted to take him to St Mungos but Lucius doesn't't trust them... Oh Marcy, you don't think he'll die, do you?"

Marcy looked down at the little boy for a long moment, running a wandless diagnostic. "I'll take him Cissa," she said finally.

"What?"

"I'll take him with me and care for him tonight. I don't have any classes until 10 tomorrow, so ill return him at around 9 tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

In lieu of a response, Narcissa enveloped her in a huge hug. "Ill have the house elves Floo through all of his things, you angel," she said gratefully.

Marcy smiled and put a finger to her lips as Draco had fallen into an uneasy doze in her arms. "See you at nine darling," she whispered. "Have fun, alright?"

A house elf scurried to throw Floo powder into the fire for her and the flames rose tall and green. "PotionMaster's quarters, Hogwarts," she said clearly, and the fire whisked them away.

%%%%%%

Severus was having a relatively good evening. He was grading seventh year essays and delighting in writing snide remarks in the margins. One particular paper was so covered in red that the girl's black ink was barely visible. He marked a "T" on the top and moved on to the next paper, thoroughly pleased.

The next one was written so small that it was barely legible and the student had written 5 feet instead of the required 3. Snape scowled darkly and cursed the over achievers of the world roundly. He might have made the student redo it and written it down as a zero, but he didn't' fail Snakes and one of his own had written it.

He sighed and made a mental note to speak to the author of said paper about the dangers of obsessive compulsive disorder. Thoroughness was good but thiscwas taking it too far.

A knock at his office door startled him until he remembered the detention he had given that afternoon. "Come in," he called, and a red headed Weasley boy entered.

Severus found it useless to learn their first names- the Wealeys bred like rabbits and there were too many red haired boys to know first names.

"Mr. Weasley," he said silkily. "How kind of you to join me for your seven o clock detention. Tell me, do you know how to read a clock, Mr. Weasley? I had thought that even Gryffindor could master such a simple skill, but it appears that I was mistaken."

The boy flushed pink. "Professor I didn't-"

"And contradicting a teacher as well?" Snape said in mock surprise. "Dear me, you must enjoy my company more than I had realized. Detention tomorrow night at seven sharp."

The boy opened his mouth to argue but seemed to thinkbthe better of it and closed it quickly.

Severus smirked to himself and directed the boy to a corner. "Lines tonight," he said. "A three foot essay on why it is wrong to disturb class." Severus rarely gave lines but he knew that for this boy lines was the worst possible punishment.

He was about to return to his grading when the Floo suddenly flared up. Whirling around, he opened his mouth to curse the unwelcome interrupter, but found himself too surprised to say a word. Mercy Drivyetsky stumbled through the flames, cluching a child to her chest.

"Severus?" she said, as if surprised to see him there.

Several sarcastic replies flitted through his head, but her desperate face banished them. "Mercy? Are you alright? " he stepped forward to take the child from her, but she shook her head and held tighter.

"He's sick," she gasped, clinging desperately to the child. "Help me; he's burning up and Fever Reducer isn't doing anything."

Severus' brain shifted into Healer mode. "Out, Weasley, " he ordered, glaring at the boy who was watching the scene with wide eyes. The boy scampered out of the office, and Severus took the child from his colleague gently but firmly.

Casting a quick Cushioning Charm, he laid the child on his desk, to better examine him.

This seemed to snap Marcy out of her trance, and she took control, conjuring cool, wet cloths to wipe his flushed face. "Severus, do you have extract of burdock root in your stores?"

He nodded and swept silently into the other room to fetch it. Burdock root, of course, he thought to himself. The main ingredient in Fever Reducer, it was harmful if taken in large quantities, but was safe for children.

He placed the glass bottle in hehand and held the struggling boy down so that she could pour the bitter liquid down his throat.

"I would suggest a CalmingDraught," he said quietly. "Struggling is making it more difficult for us and for him."

She nodded tiredly, smoothingnthe pale hair back from the boy's forehead. "If you have a children's strength dose."

Again he nodded and swept off to fetch it for her, tar first time he'd done anything at anyone else's suggestion in a long time...

 **Please review wonderful readers! Sorry this update took so long but u know how it goes- the more reviews, the faster the updates... I even like suggestions and criticism!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Just to clarify:**

 **This story takes place when Harry is about 3 years old and I am being slightly untrue to the storyline by giving Severus the Defense position.**

 **Everything else should be correct, but if you notice mistakes please let me know! And of course, thank you to all of my reviewers...do continue, please!**

Marcy spent most of the night watching Draco breathe. His fever had gone down, and now he was sleeping peacefully, his face looking angelic in the firelight.

After her initial panicked treatment, she and Severus had spent an hour brewing a child-safe potion to combat the rather nasty cold the Draco had developed. A week of not being treated had caused the cold to take root in his chest, the reason for the heavy coughing.

After Transfiguring her armchair into a child's bed, Marcy sat at her desk and graded papers, afraid to sleep. Her worry meant that few papers were graded, but she had gotten an important item out of the way. Just before dawn broke, Marcy warded Draco's bed to alert her at the slightest change and left for the Owlry.

Fleur padded calmly at her heels as she climbed the winding stairs to the tower, a letter clutched in her hand.

She paced up and down the rows of sleepy owls, searching for the right one. She needed an owl that looked authoritative but didn't scream "Hogwarts". A pale female at the end of the row caught her eye, and she set about fastening the letter to its leg.

"Take it to Fenrir Greyback," she told the owl softly. "And wait for his reply. When he sends it, bring the letter directly to me, please. Alright?"

The owl hooted once, and Marcy carried it over to the window, releasing her into the grey predawn sky.

%%%%

Draco awoke shortly after 8:00, hungry, disoriented, and frightened.

The first thing Marcy did was send for a light breakfast of tea, toast, and porridge to be brought to her office. Then she took Draco in her lap, talking to him as she would an injured animal- gently and quietly. Slowly he began to calm down as she explained to him that she was one of Mother's friends, and they were in Hogwarts.

"Where's Uncle Sev'rus?" was his immediate, and slightly suspicious response.

"He's in his office, I'm sure," she replied quietly. "Or in the Great Hall."

"Can I go to the Great Hall?" he asked hopefully, eyeing the plain breakfast in dismay.

"I don't quite think that the headmaster would approve," she laughed, ruffling his fine, blond hair. "But we can eat together, and then I can play a game with you, or read you a story."

"I don't like toast," he pouted. "Mummy lets me have whatever I want for breakfast."

Marcy laughed again; he was absolutely adorable when he sulked. "You can have jam on the toast," she compromised. "Any type you like," she added persuasively.

A cunning gleam entered his silvery eyes. "I want a piece of toast with eight kinds of jam," he announced. "Blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, blackberry, apricot, and... Well, what other kinds of jam are there Auntie Marcy?"

"Those five sound like plenty to me," she said as the jars began to pop into existence. "Shall I help you spread?"

He frowned. "I never spread my jam," he said in a superior tone. "The house-elves do."

"I'll spread it then," she said, picking up the knife. He watched her spread in silence for a full minute, seeming confused.

When she handed him the piece of toast he continued to stare at it as if it were a foreign object. "How come you spread the jam?" he asked after a while. "Only house elves are supposed to do that."

Marcy sighed, and hugged him tightly. "Not everyone has house-elves, Draco Lucius. Many witches and wizards spread their own jam."

He turned his big, innocent eyes on her again. "Don't you have a house elf, Auntie Marcy?" he asked, sounding concerned. "I could give you one of mine- Mummy says a lady shouldn't have to work for herself."

"That's very kind of you Draco," she said, trying to stifle a laugh. "But Hogwarts has plenty of house-elves." Seeing another question forming on his lips, she put the slice of toast in his hand. "Now eat up, and we can talk afterwards, alright?"

Draco ate his toast with relish and drank a cup of weak tea with plenty of milk and sugar, prepared by the house elves. Marcy had a cup of strong black tea.

As soon as she finished she spelled his hands clean, and called Krider to take away the remains of the breakfast.

"Shall I read you a story, Draco?" she asked, setting him on the bed and sitting down next to him. "I have several story books here."

"I already know how to read," he informed her. "Father taught me almost a year ago."

"Ah," Marcy said eyes twinkling. "You know how to read English. But have you learned to read French?"

Draco looked up at her, his eyes huge. "Mother is teaching me to speak French," he said. "But I don't know how to read it." He looked strangely abashed and added quickly, "I'll learn how to soon, of course. I'm only three years old and Father says that most three year olds can't read."

Marcy felt a twinge of pity for the child. Imagine being ashamed of not knowing how to read French at three years old.

"You know what," she said with a quick glance at the clock. "It's nearly time for your Mummy to pick you up, but I have two French storybooks that read themselves aloud. Would you like to take them back to the Manor with you?"

He nodded eagerly and followed her into the bedroom, where she dug through her trunk for the books. They were at the very bottom, packed neatly into a small box. She picked them up and ran her fingers over the covers nostalgically.

They were as bright as they had been when she had received them from her mother for her own third birthday. Eagerly, she opened them up to the title page, and felt tears prick her eyes. Written in her mother's lovely, elegant script was an inscription:

 _Pour ma belle fleurie- lire et apprécier. Amour toujours, Maman_

(To my beautiful flower- read and enjoy. Love always, Mother.)

And beneath it:

 _Propriété de Marcielle Fleur Drivyetsky_

(Property of Marcielle Fleur Drivyetsky)

"Auntie Marcy?"

Marcy shook herself out of her daze to see Draco patting her arm, a concerned expression on his little face.

"Don't cry Auntie Marcy," he said softly, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear. "You don't have to give me the storybook."

She laughed and wrapped Draco in a hug. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Nothing would make me happier than to give you the books."

At that moment there was hissing sound from the other room, and then Narcissa's voice floated toward them. "Marcy? Draco? Anybody here?"

Marcy hurried to her feet and stumbled into the other room where she knelt in front of the fireplace. "How was your night Cissa?" she asked, putting an arm around Draco who had come to stand beside her. "Did you enjoy?"

"Mum- Mother," Draco said, smiling. "I missed you all the night!"

"I missed you too, Dragon," Narcissa said, blowing him an airy kiss. Why don't you go and play in the other room for a moment- I have to talk to Marcy for a moment."

" _Auntie_ Marcy," he corrected, trotting away obediently. "I named her _Auntie_ Marcy."

"Marcy-" Narcissa began, but Marcy interrupted her.

"Come through, dear, and we can talk normally."

Narcissa shook her head, her eyes darting about. "I don't have a lot of time, Marcy. Lucius needs me in the Ministry today- they want to re-try him and they need a character reference. I could leave Dragon with the house-elves but I just don't like the thought because he's still kind of sick. Could you and Severus...maybe...just this once..."

Marcy reached through the flames to hold her friend's hand. "Of course I'll keep him. Today is my lightest schedule, so I'll be fine. Just go, Cissa. Lucius needs you now- we can care for Draco."

"Thank you," Narcissa whispered, her big blue eyes glimmering with tears. "Now, can I just say goodbye to Dragon?"

As if on cue, Draco came striding back into the room, his hands in his dressing gown pockets. As Narcissa explained that he would be staying in Hogwarts for the day, Marcy couldn't help but notice that how much he resembled Lucius in looks as well as demeanor. The moments that the sensitive Narcissa in him showed through were few, and they would only get fewer as he grew.

Narcissa terminated the Floo call, and Marcy took out Draco's clothes to get him ready for the day of lessons.

%%%%%

Marcy just had time to settle Draco into a Transfigured armchair with the French storybooks when the 10:00 Potions class arrived. It was Marcy's favourite class, the NEWT class.

As usual, the more conscientious Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws arrived first, followed by the Slytherins, and lastly the two Gryffindors, swaggering in just in time. They took their usual seats, none of them noticing Draco who was all but hiding behind his storybook.

Marcy began the lesson, a very technical piece about the effects of dried plants versus fresh plants in different Potions. All of the students, including the usually flippant Gryffindors, were taking copious notes on the theory.

Marcy tried to simplify the complicated rules as much as possible, but there was only so much that she could do, as it was a very difficult theory. When she finally finished, she waited a few moments to allow the slower note-takers to catch up, before erasing the blackboard.

"In the twenty minutes remaining, you may begin your homework assignment," she said. "I would like you to pick three potions from the list on the board-" the list appeared on the board- "and tell me which ingredients are better fresh, which are better dried, and why, showing all of your work. Are there any questions?"

Only one hand went up.

"Mr. Laffol?"

"Excuse me Professor, but how do you know my cousin?"

Now Marcy was confused. "I'm sorry? Which cousin would you be referring to Mr. Laffol?"

The boy smirked a bit. "My cousin Draco, Professor, who is sitting in the armchair behind you."

Most of the students were already working on their essays, although some were watching the exchange interestedly. Marcy perched on the edge of her desk and ran a hand through her hair tiredly.

"How are you related to Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Laffol?"

"My mother was a Malfoy," he replied. "We're first cousins, aren't we, Dragon?"

Draco nodded, with a big smile on his face. "Is she also your Auntie Marcy, James? She's _my_ Auntie Marcy."

Marcy blushed a bit, and James laughed. "I don't know, Dragon," he said with a smirk. "I guess you'll have to ask her."

Draco turned to her, but she shook her head. "That's enough," she said, a bit sternly. "Mr. Laffol, your essay awaits you, I believe."

They all worked quietly for the rest of the period, although Draco slipped out of his armchair to stand next to James' chair. When the period was over, Marcy asked James to stay behind for a moment.

"Mr. Laffol," she said quietly, after sending Draco out of earshot. "If you need to Floo your Mother, you may come to my office."

He nodded, his features unusually grim. "Thank you Professor," he said. He slipped out of the classroom, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

It was the last class of the day and Marcy was having a very difficult time concentrating. The NEWT Potions class was generally her favorite, but today she couldn't seem to keep her head in her work at all.

"Professor?" A timid voice snapped her back to reality. Violet Nott was standing in front of her desk, twisting her hands nervously.

"Yes, Miss Nott?" Marcy said, realizing belatedly that this was the girl's third attempt to get her attention.

"Erm- my poison seems to be more than one poison mixed together."

Marcy smiled proudly- it had barely taken the girl ten minutes- and clapped her hands to get the attention of the class. "Class, as Miss Nott has pointed out, your poisons are, in fact, a blend of several poisons."

A confused murmur arose as several of the students flipped to the appropriate section in their textbooks. "According to Golpalott's Third Law…" she prompted

"The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components," recited Angela Goldstein.

Marcy winced; she hated when textbook definitions were spouted at her, but the girl certainly had an impressive memory. "10 points to Ravenclaw," she said briskly. "Now who can tell me what that means?" She scanned the classroom for hands. "Mr. Laffol?"

"I think," he began his lazy, aristocratic drawl. "That what Mr. Golpalott is telling us is that the antidote to a blended poison is the antidotes of all of the poisons, only with an ingredient added."

"Excellent, 10 points to Slytherin." She tapped the board with her wand and quills came out, ready to take notes.

With a grin, Marcy perched on the edge of her desk, her favourite lecturing position. "In order to begin this process, one first has to identify the poisons that comprise the mixture. Fortunately, a spell has been developed to aid you in that process.

"The spell is known as Scarpin's Revelaspell, and the incantation is 'Specialis Revelio'. The spell separates the poisons back into the original ones that make up the mixture. They can then be bottled and analysed in order to proceed to the next step."

She paused, and then asked, "I assume that you have begun to cover nonverbal spells, is that correct?"

There was a ripple of nods.

"Excellent, because this spell is a nonverbal." Looks of dismay passed around the classroom.

"I will first teach it to you verbally, so that you can learn the wand motion and pronunciation, as this spell is not one that I would expect you to learn on your own. Once you have that down, you will proceed to attempt it nonverbally."

She hopped off the desk and stood in the middle of the room. "Wands out, please." She rolled up the heavy satin sleeves of her robes.

"The correct pronunciation of this spell is 'specia-LIS RE-velio', emphasis on the last syllable of the first word and the first syllable of the second word. Write this down."

There was a quick scratching of quills on parchment. "Now for the wand motion. I will tell you what to do, and then I will demonstrate as many times as necessary. You will begin with a controlled sweep from right to left on the word 'specialis' and then return to center and give a slight jab by the first syllable of 'revelio' and then finish the incantation."

Marcy demonstrated the technique slowly, enunciating the spell so that the students could see when the wand movements came in. Fortunately, they were all taking NEWT Charms as well, and learned rather quickly.

"Now, everyone please return to your sample. Each of you must have six vials ready before you try out the spell nonverbally. Once you have succeeded in separating the poisons from one another, place a Stasis Charm on each vial, label it, and place it on my desk. Begin."

Marcy sat down behind her desk and fingered the piece of parchment that she had kept on her person since receiving it. It was simple note, only three words, but those three words, coupled with the fact that tonight was a full moon, were making her unduly anxious.

She pulled the note out and studied the rough handwriting once more. "We'll be there."

###### ####### #### ######

Dressing for dinner took Marcy longer than it usually did, as she had other things on her mind than fashion.

"No, no, NO!" her mirror scolded when she stepped out of the bathroom. "You cannot wear dragon-hide boots with white robes, and the silver jewelry does not go well at all. And you cannot wear hooded robes to dinner."

"I must," Marcy said firmly. "The hood and boots are non-negotiable, as is the silver."

The mirror sighed theatrically. "At least wear your black robes then," it said resignedly. "They won't clash as badly with the boots and they'll highlight the silver nicely. And your hair-"

"-Must be up," Marcy said quickly. "I cannot wear it down tonight."

"A French twist perhaps," the mirror suggested, warming to the outfit. "Go change into the black robes and then I'll see how I can work with this fashion disaster that you insist on."

She changed quickly into her warmest set of hooded black robes, lined on the inside with fox fur, and removed the polish from her nails. She went to stand in front of the mirror and obeyed its instructions automatically, even allowing it to choose her makeup.

"Now you're decent," the mirror said finally. "And soon you'll be late for dinner as well."

Marcy studied herself carefully before moving toward the door. A silver belt glimmered against her black robes, and silver rings flashed on most of her fingers. A silver medallion hung from her neck. Only the tips of greenish-grey dragon hide boots peeped out from under the long robe, and her hair had been twisted into a knot high on her head.

"Come Fleur," she called to the cat, who was curled up by the fireplace. She didn't usually bring Fleur out of her rooms, but tonight was an exception. She and Fleur were bonded very closely, not only through the witch-familiar bond but through and Olde Magic bond called the Name Bond. When a witch and her familiar share a name, the bond is far stronger than an ordinary one.

Marcy warded her study door carefully, as usual, before proceeding upstairs. Fleur padded at her heels, keeping watch over her Mistress with steady, topaz eyes. They entered the Great Hall just as the food arrived on the plates.

Severus Snape was not in a good mood. For one thing, he hated eating the Great Hall, but Dumbledore insisted he do it nearly every day. For another, Marcy hadn't arrived yet, which made him the subject of Charity Burbage's chatty attention. Severus did not enjoy the attention of any witches, and certainly not those old enough to be his mother.

Severus twisted the delicate stem of his wineglass with unnecessary force, causing deep red wine to spill over the side. It was cleaned up easily enough, but the fact that probably half of his students had seen his blunder did not improve his mood at all.

Professor Burbage was talking about something entirely uninteresting, and Dumbledore's discussion of Muggle movies wasn't helping either. Flitwick was eagerly giving his opinions, and even Minerva was listening with a half-smile on her face.

"Severus, m'boy," Dumbledore beamed at him, turning away from his conversation with Flitwick. A groan rose up in Severus' throat- could the night get any worse?

"We were just wondering if you had happened to notice Marcy on her way up- she was due several minutes ago."

"No," Severus replied shortly.

"Avoiding her, are we?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling.

It took every bit of Severus' self-control not to smash his wineglass over the Headmaster's head. "We live at opposite ends of the Dungeon, Headmaster," he said through gritted teeth. "And _I_ am not a stalker."

Dumbledore merely chuckled- irritating old man! And turned his attention to the table. "I believe the food is about to arrive."

Arrive it did, and along with it, the object that Severus chose to vent his frustrations on- Marcy. She swept her way over to her chair and sat down. A silvery bundle of fur leaped onto her lap.

"Are we trying to irritate Mr. Filch?" Snape asked nastily. "Because bringing in a strange cat is a good way to do that."

Marcy was puzzled by the open animosity- she and Severus had developed an almost cordial relationship over the past few weeks. "Fleur is my familiar," she said quietly. "And she and Mr. Filch are already acquainted."

"Can't survive a meal without her, suddenly," he jibed. "Maybe the seventh year class is becoming a bit much for us to handle?"

Marcy ignored him and poured herself a glass of wine. She didn't take any food on her plate, however.

"Food's not good enough either, I see." Severus knew he was being unfair, but he had to let it out on somebody. "Or is it our anorexia cropping up again?"

Marcy turned an icy glare on him. "I don't appreciate the remarks about my appearance," she said, glancing at the clock. Time for her to leave. "And as I don't intend to be your chew-toy tonight, I will finish my dinner alone."

She got up and left, secretly grateful to have an excuse to leave. She did not go back to her rooms, however. Instead, she proceeded toward the main entrance, pulling her hood up as soon as she left the building.

She walked briskly toward the Apparition Point, tying a gossamer black scarf over the lower part of her face as she did so, and pulling the hood forward until it threw her face completely into shadow. When she reached it, she hesitated, and then turned on her heel.

"The Creag."

She landed smoothly on the rocky outcropping, checking her watch. She was right on time. As if on cue, several figures shimmered into view and made their way toward her. Fenrir Greyback was at their head.

"Silver," he said abruptly, motioning toward her rings. "Why the silver?"

"I can't put myself at risk," she explained. "But if it makes you feel better, I will swear a Wizard's Oath not to harm you."

"Or any of the others."

She nodded, and pulled out her wand. "I swear on my magic," she said slowly and clearly. "Not to harm any of the men who are here in front of me tonight. I swear on my magic." A blue light emanated from the tip of her wand and encircled her body three times, before melting into her.

Greyback nodded. "Now how do you intend to get us children tonight?"

"I am a respected person," she said calmly. "And I have invited several children to my house. When they arrive, my doorknob will act as a Portkey to bring them directly here. Their parents will be told that they met with a tragic accident on the way here, and they will not remember arriving at my home."

"And next full moon?"

"I have a plan," she said. "Now I will leave you gentleman to your transformations, and I will bring the children when they are complete."

She climbed several paces up the hill and waited. The moon would be rising at any moment, sending the werewolves into their transformation. Sure enough, the moon began to float into view, large and round and yellow.

Greyback transformed first, and fastest, although it didn't take any of them long. Within five minutes there were six fully transformed werewolves , howling the moon and at each other.

Marcy walked carefully down the slope, palms out. She threw back her hood so that the wolves could see her eyes and began to chant, a chant not unlike that of the Soul-Binding charm. The wolves calmed immediately, and fastened their wide yellow eyes on hers.

Now was the key part- don't stop chanting and don't lose eye contact. Slowly, a soft silvery light began to emanate from her outstretched palms. It surrounded the werewolves, and slowly, it subdued them. In turn, each werewolf lay down, eyes still open.

Still maintaining eye contact, Marcy touched each werewolf on the head, sending light straight into their eyes. The eyes closed, and the wolves slept.

When each one had been touched Marcy stopped the chant, her body shaking from the exertion.

"You will sleep now," she intoned softly. "In the morning, you will remember each tearing apart a child, and devouring it completely. You will Apparate back to your homes, and then return here at the next full moon. You will not remember the sleep."

She repeated the instructions three times, and then conjured up piles of children's bones. Blood stained the rocky ground. Marcy apparated back to Hogwarts.


	11. Chapter 11

Marcy sat down at the Head Table, ignoring the dark haired man seated at her right. It was far too early in the morning to deal with Severus, and she hadn't quite forgiven him for his behaviour the night before.

"Good morning Charity," she said politely, pouring herself a cup of tea. The other witch smiled, and then returned to her conversation with Aurora Sinastra. The Great Hall was rather quiet, and Marcy sipped her tea thoughtfully.

The sudden arrival of the owl post broke the pleasant silence, and the teachers all winced as the noisy birds descended on the Hall. Marcy untied the _Daily Prophet_ from the leg of the owl in front of her, distractedly placing two Knuts in its leather pouch. It pecked at her plate, and then left.

The headline immediately caught her eye and she gasped, involuntarily. **Suspected Death Eater Lucius Malfoy's Trial Complete!** it screamed. **Malfoys Placed Under House Arrest Until Further Notice.(** continued on page 2)

She didn't even bother turning to the appropriate page- the headline was enough for her. She got up from her seat and made her way swiftly over to the Slytherin table. None of them seemed to have read their _Prophets_ yet, as they were carrying on as usual.

"Mr. Laffol, may I speak with you, please," she asked quickly, tapping the blonde boy on the shoulder. He looked surprised, but stood up immediately.

"Of course, Professor." He followed her out the door and down to her office, where she motioned him to take a seat. Silently, she placed the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him and stood back to allow him privacy.

He read swiftly, his eyes roving over the page, his face an inscrutable mask. The only sign of his distress was the white-knuckled intensity with which he grasped the paper.

He read the article thoroughly, and then turned a pleading face towards Marcy. "Mother," he said softly. "She'll be devastated. I must see her."

"I quite agree," Marcy said briskly. "Unfortunately, I can't give you permission to leave the grounds."

"Professor Snape then?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head regretfully. "I'm afraid the only one who can give you permission is the Headmaster."

He blanched noticeably, but squared his shoulders. "I will ask the Headmaster then."

She nodded, and opened the door, ushering him into the corridor. "I am coming with you," she said firmly. "He'll have a far more difficult time turning me down."

####

"I'm afraid I cannot allow anyone to leave the school grounds my dear boy," Dumbledore said calmly, folding his hands on his desk. "It would be quite irresponsible of me."

"Professor, I'm of age," James said quietly. "And my Mother really needs me right now."

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore repeated. "I cannot allow it."

Marcy could feel the coiled tension in her student rising to the surface and stepped forward before he could do anything unwise.

"Headmaster, I still have not heard a plausible reason why Mr. Laffol cannot go home to see his Mother," she said icily.

The Headmaster twinkled at her in a grandfatherly manner that set her teeth on edge. "Professor Drivyetsky," he said, "As I have just stated, it is unsafe."

"Unsafe?"

"The world is not a safe place my dear," he said gravely. "It is best for students to stay where they can be protected."

Marcy had absolutely had enough. "Headmaster," she said as evenly as she could through her nearly blinding rage. "I have had three Gryffindors miss my class so far this year because they went home for various reasons. As I recall, one of them had an uncle visiting from abroad, one had a new baby sister, and one of them just wanted to see his family. Explain to me the difference between those situations and this one, please, because I fail to understand."

The Headmaster had been steepling and unsteepling his long fingers throughout her tirade. Now he peered up at her through his spectacles with something between shock and approval.

"Those were gross oversights, I must admit," he murmured. "I will speak to Professor McGonagall at once about preventing such things in the future..."

"Speak to whomever you wish," Marcy said in disgust. "I will tell you though, that I have a good friend looking to be recognized at the Daily Prophet. I doubt that your nearly all Slytherin Board of Governors will be happy to read about this kind of favoritism."

She knew it was a dirty blow, but she was so fed up with the anti-Slytherin prejudice that she had been seeing that this just tipped her over the edge. She'd have James home if it was the last thing she did as a Hogwarts Professor.

Dumbledore pressed his lips together in clear annoyance. "I suppose it would only be fair to allow Mr. Laffol to go home, if such privileges have been extended to other students in the past," he said finally. "Mr. Laffol, is there anything that you require from your dormitory?"

"No sir."

"Then be on your way." Incredibly, the old man seemed to have regained his twinkle as he gestured James toward the fireplace with a flourish.

There was a flash of green flame, and then it was just Marcy and Dumbledore together in the office.

"Miss Drivyetsky." The Headmaster did not sound at all pleased. "Please stay for a moment- I'd like a word."

###

Marcy stumbled tiredly down the stairs towards her quarters. As expected, the talk with Dumbledore had been rather unpleasant, and she was rather sure that the rest of her year would follow suit.

As such, the sight of an Auror standing at the door to her office, nearly undid her composure.

"Can I help you?" She was doing her best to sound calm, but even she could hear her frayed nerves poking through.

The man surveyed her with keen yellow eyes, before extending his hand for a quick shake. "Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror."

"Marcy Drivyetsky, Potions Professor. Can I help you, sir?"

He gestured expansively toward her office. "Why don't you have a seat?" Marcy bristled at being invited to have a seat in her own office, but opened the door nonetheless, still trying to maintain a calm exterior. Surely standing up to the Headmaster wasn't a matter for the Aurors.

Once they were both seated, Scrimgeour began to speak. "Miss Drivyetsky, you have been friends with Narcissa Malfoy for quite some time, have you not?"

She gave a tight nod, not trusting her voice. She did not at all like where this was going.

"She apparently thought very highly of you," Here he gave a grim half-smile, "And named you the guardian of her son, should something occur."

Marcy felt the blood drain from her face. " _Thought_?" she repeated hollowly. "Should something occur...did something happen to Narcissa? The Prophet said they were only put under house arrest!"

"Madame Malfoy is in perfect health," he assured her, looking none too pleased for it. "However, she has been declared unfit to raise a child for the next year, while the Malfoys are under house arrest and subject to frequent sweeps for Dark Objects."

Marcy couldn't hold in a gasp. "Merlin! Poor child!"

"Yes, poor child indeed," the Auror agreed. "As it happens, Mr. Malfoy named the current Defense Professor, Professor Snape as his choice for a guardian should something occur."

"Where will Draco go?" she asked fearfully. "We both teach..."

Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "We had originally intended to send the child to Andromeda Tonks, his next-of-kin, but-"

"What of Serena Laffol?" She interrupted. "She is Lucius' sister, and the families are quite friendly. Narcissa hasn't spoken to Andromeda in more than a decade."

"Ahem." The Auror looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What I meant to say was, the next-of-kin with no Dark associations. And although the court would normally honor the wishes of the parents, Professor Snape does not qualify as a person with no Dark associations."

"He's been cleared!" She said indignantly. "Professor Dumbledore vouched for him."

"Well, yes. However, his Dark associations remain, and as such he is unfit to be a guardian. That being the case, the Wizengamot has unanimously voted to honour Madame Malfoy's wishes and appoint you as the child's guardian." He scrutinized her for a moment and then added, "Assuming that you're willing to care for the child."

"I would be honoured to care for _Draco,"_ she said emphasizing his name. "But would Professor Snape and I be able to share guardianship? It would be difficult for me to do it on my own with my teaching schedule and all..."

Yellow eyes met steely grey for a long moment, and then Scrimgeour nodded. "Officially, you will be the guardian," he said stiffly. "But Professor Snape can help to care for the child."

Marcy breathed a sigh of relief. As much as she loved Draco, he could be quite demanding, and she was certain the Severus would be able to put him in his place.

"I'll have you sign here, Miss Drivyetsky." The Auror pushed a contract across the desk to her.

Even without touching it, she could feel the magic sparking from the parchment. "What is the extent of the magical binding?" She asked suspiciously, dipping her quill in the inkwell.

Scrimgeour looked almost sheepish at being caught. "The binding will merely prevent you from harming the child, and the Ministry will be alerted if the child is not being properly cared for. It's really a very minor binding- no blood required."

Marcy nodded and signed her name. She handed the contract and the quill back to the Auror who signed off with a flourish, and then tucked the parchment into his cloak.

"Congratulations Miss Drivyetsky," he said, the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone. "You are now the official guardian of Draco Lucius Malfoy."

 **Bet y'all didn't expect that, huh? Please review!**


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